


Everyday I Miss You

by Sherlockedancer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 6 months, I Love You, John is left sad and alone, M/M, Sherlock goes away, They both struggle to share their feelings for each other, for gods sake just say the words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockedancer/pseuds/Sherlockedancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock says goodbye on the tarmac and this time he leaves. The two boys struggle through 6 months of loneliness and never having told the other one their true feelings. (I edited a few things so hopefully that helps the flow of the story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyday I Miss You

Day 5

The days were passing by slower and slower. Sherlock missed John more than words could describe. Why had he been so stupid on the tarmac? Why hadn't he just told John how he felt? Oh that's right, because Sherlock knew he wasn't coming back, and telling John would have left Sherlock even more heart broken then he was now. Once the six months were over, so was Sherlock. Sherlock ignored the pang in his chest and moved his attention to something else. Disappearing into his mind palace and thinking about the undercover work that he was supposed to be focusing on. But how could one focus when they were in love and about to die?

Day 10

Mycroft got ahold of Sherlock. Sherlock barely listened to what his brother was telling him, instead he focused on the one question he needed to ask. How was John? Mycroft hesitated to tell his brother. Of course John was in no state of wellness. Acting and feeling as if Sherlock had already died, which I guess in John's mind, he already had. Mycroft told Sherlock about John anyways and Sherlock fought back the urge to cry. If anyone caught him feeling any sort of emotion, he was almost guaranteed to be beaten, maybe even killed.

Day 15

It had barely been two weeks but Sherlock's heart was crumbling in on him. His mind kept busy with the work but he was beginning to lose his will to live. What was the purpose of living if he couldn't live with John? He continued having phone conversations with Mycroft, at least once a week. The basis of the conversation was always about John. How was he? Had he eaten? Had he left the house? Had he smiled? Mycroft struggled to tell his brother about John, knowing that there were open wounds in his brother's heart, each one opening more with each word about John that was spoken.

Day 20

Sherlock found a way to get cocaine. He tried his best to hide the fact that he was shooting up. Careful to wear long sleeves. Several times he considered over-dose. Maybe that one last high would makes his passing from the world slightly more pleasant. Sherlock begged Mycroft to find a way to let him speak to John, Mycroft refused, worried about both of their well-being.

Day 30

Every night Sherlock dreamed of John. Sometimes it was so real, just a normal day in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock would walk into the room and find John sitting at the table reading the paper and Sherlock swore he could smell the tea in the air. He'd walk forward and say something to John or reach out to touch him, but he'd wake every time, crying. The dreams were becoming more common but every single time he'd wake up just in time to not have the warmth of John's arm or hear the sound of John's voice.

Day 40

It hadn't been as hard last time. Sure Sherlock had gone off to defeat Moriarty's network, and faced the threat of death. This time was different though. Sherlock knew that his death was inevitable. There wasn't even the slightest chance that he could ever return to Baker Street. Since Sherlock had arrived, he was no longer Sherlock. His name was Christopher and he worked alongside a woman named Sarah. They both had obviously been forced into the undercover work. Sherlock was careful to keep his distance, Sarah however pressured to stay closer. She flirted and left light touches, clung to Sherlock whenever possible. Sherlock ignored her attempts and made sure to give off the vibe that he wasn't interested in the slightest. His heart would always belong to John, even if John didn't know.

Day 50

John was stuck. He felt himself burying himself deeper and deeper into a hole of grief but he couldn't stop himself. Every day was an eternity and 50 days wasn't something that should be survivable. John felt like he hadn't breathed in 50 days. Every day without Sherlock was a piece of John's heart that went missing. John stayed friends with Mary, but they were distant. She only came over to check on John; make sure he had eaten, bathed, and got fresh air. She was no longer his lover, but his care taker.

Day 60

John cursed himself nearly every hour. Why hadn't he said more to Sherlock that day on the tarmac? He was almost certain that Sherlock was going to confess his love for him. Was John really so dumb that he was led to believe that Sherlock would do something like that? Now John knew he should have said something. Sherlock's final minutes with John and John had just made a joke and laughed. Now John spent nearly every day loving the sound of the name Sherlock Watson. One name that he would never hear said aloud.

Day 70

John considered calling Mycroft. It was the closest thing he had to Sherlock. What if Mycroft had talked to Sherlock? Maybe something had changed. Still, John couldn't quite muster up the courage. His finger twitched above the call button but he could never quite bring himself to actually push it. Maybe it was a metaphor for his and Sherlock's relationship. Maybe things would have been different if one of them had just had the courage to click to call button. Day 83 Sherlock knew, 100 days left of his life. He'd finish his undercover mission and say goodbye to the world and the short life he knew. Mycroft called. Sherlock was at a loss for words, which wasn't like Sherlock at all. Sherlock heard it in Mycroft's voice, the worry, the sincere-ness, and the fear. Neither of them mentioned Sherlock's impending death. Their conversations remained normal, as if nothing had changed. "Oh how's mummy?" "She's fine. Always trying to make me come for dinner and asking when I'll find my true love." "Of course." The boys acted as though they were still the same rival brothers, and this brought comfort to Sherlock. It was truly a game of pretend and Sherlock knew Mycroft was just playing along. Both the boys played along, making Sherlock feel as if maybe his world hadn't completely disappeared; only his identity and the one person he ever loved.

Day 90

John wasn't sure of Sherlock's official day of death. He had done the math and knew it had to be close to 180. That meant that today he was halfway. John tried to imagine what the detective was up to. Was he enjoying himself? Did he miss home? More importantly, did he miss John? John knew he missed Sherlock. Everyone knew John missed Sherlock. People were beginning to worry. Pressuring him to see his therapist. Their intentions were good but John just wanted to be alone. Actually, John wanted to be with Sherlock, but that wasn't possible, so alone was the next best thing.

Day 100

John thought about death. He thought about death a lot. What if there was an afterlife? He'd see Sherlock there, right? Maybe, John thought, just maybe he'd meet Sherlock there.

Day 110

Sherlock hated to hear the words his brother was telling him. He hated to hear that John would ever contemplate suicide. Sherlock wanted to be there to remind him that his life was too precious for that. He wanted to tell John that his future was golden and he had a lot of potential for someone with a normal mind. More than anything he wished he could tell John that he was loved. Mycroft reassured Sherlock that he had John under close watch. Sherlock still worried.

Day 120

John had left the flat on one of his rare occasions to go receive groceries. He had barely walked a block before a black car rolled up and the door opened. John knew who had sent the car and he knew better than to protest getting in. Anthea sat inside, nodding and then returning to her phone. John stared out the window as the car drove to who knows where. John was escorted into a private office where Mycroft sat alone in a chair behind a big oak desk. John sat down in the only other chair in the room. Nodding to Mycroft, waiting for an explanation. Mycroft nodded back and then spoke, "I've spoken to my brother." "Oh, erm, recently?" "Once a week since he's left. Seems rather brotherly but I assure you it’s just business." "I'm sure it is." "I just thought you should know that he is well." John couldn't help but joke, it was the only way he could keep from crying, "Yeah probably as well as someone can be when they only have 2 months left to live." "Yes that is rather tragic." "Is there any other reason you brought me here or can I go? I was on my way to the store you know." Mycroft hesitated for a second, considering whether or not to say more. Finally he answered John, "No that's all, just thought you'd like to know." "Well, I'll just be on my way then, ta!" And with that, John left the office, heading out to the awaiting black car.

Day 120

The undercover assignment was going by fast. Not just the time, but Sherlock was solving it faster than any of them had expected. Sherlock feared his ending day was sooner than later. Mycroft reassured him that he probably still had time. Sherlock didn't believe him. Sarah noticed that Sherlock was acting different, "What's wrong Chris? You seem a bit more out of sorts than usual. You’re normally pretty fast at figuring this kind of stuff out." "Just a bit of a headache today, probably should get some more sleep tonight." "You sure that's all? Anything you want to talk about?" "I'm fine, just a headache." "If you say so."

Day 130

Lestrade had come over to visit John, he even offered for John to come to a crime scene or two, claiming that John may have picked a thing or two up from Sherlock. As much as John wanted to believe this, he knew he couldn't visit a crime scene without Sherlock. It wouldn't be right and would most likely it would send John into a stream of tears. It had become a tradition a few weeks ago for Lestrade to come over every Friday night and offer John a beer and someone to vent to. This particular Friday John spoke more. Whether it was the alcohol or he was just wanting to share his feelings, John wasn't sure. He told Lestrade everything. How he had fallen for Sherlock from day one. How there was always that bit of tension and he felt like maybe Sherlock had felt the same way. He told him about the tarmac and their last goodbye and how stupid he had felt for not saying everything there and then. When John had finished telling Lestrade everything he broke down and cried. Lestrade just sat there and comforted John, gently rubbing his back until the doctor had fallen asleep. He laid him down on the couch and draped a blanket over the small man. He couldn't help but shed a tear as he stared at John and saw now just how much Sherlock had truly meant to him.

Day 140

Sherlock had made a book of lists. One, how many days he had been gone. Two, how many days he had left. Three, everything he loved about John. The third list was the longest by far. Sherlock had a specific part of his mind palace just about John, a rather large part actually. Sherlock had reached the part in his stage of grieving where he was angry. He snapped easier, yelled at people more often, and had come close to strangling someone to death. Sarah was always there to snap him out of it. She worried more often and her flirting was becoming less and less. She kept asking Sherlock (who she thought was Christopher) to open up, tell him what was going on. Sherlock refused. He wondered if she knew about his imminent death.

Day 150

Mycroft had made a decision. His brother’s death coming soon and John was starting to reach the point of no return, a path he’d rather not watch him go down. Mycroft rode to 221B Baker Street. He let himself in and walked upstairs, one deep breath and then he knocked. John answered the door, dark circles under his eyes, and tear stained cheeks. God, Mycroft thought, it had been 150 days, how could he still look so disgruntled?

“What do you want?’

“I came to inquire about my brother.”

“Inquire what?”

“Well, I thought maybe you’d like to call him. You know, say one last goodbye.”

John froze, not sure what to do with this new news. A silence filled the room and Mycroft eyed John, waiting for a response. Finally John nodded, slowly, but deliberately.

“Yeah, that would be…that would be good.”

Mycroft nodded and reached into his pocket, receiving his phone. He dialed and then talked to a few people, John assumed it had to do with security. Finally Mycroft handed over the phone,

“He should answer soon.”

John just nodded and grabbed the phone. Mycroft spoke again,

“I’ll you give you some alone time. I’ll be downstairs with Mrs. Hudson if you need me.”

John once again nodded, pressing the phone to his ear. His heart beat pounded, John was sure the whole world could hear it. He held his breath with every ring, his heart skipping a beat. Finally a voice answered,

“Hello?”

John froze, his hand shook and he couldn’t speak.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Mycroft? Do you think this is funny?”

John was able to make slight noises, but nothing near coherent words,

“Who is this? I thought they said this was Mycroft. Is everything okay?”

Finally John burst into tears,

“Sherlock it’s you. It’s really you.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be shocked. His mind froze and nothing came out of his mouth.

“Sherlock? You okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean not to speak. I just, got a little choked up.”

A few more beats before Sherlock finally spoke,

“John.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Your brother.”

“I thought he said…he said... he said he couldn’t.”

“Well I guess he could. He came over and asked me if I’d like to call you. One last goodbye before you leave. You know…”

“You mean before I die. Leaving doesn’t quite sound so permanent.”

“Yeah well you didn’t have to remind me. I haven’t actually been coping too well.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“What about you Sherlock? How are you? Is everything alright?”

Sherlock paused, no nothing was alright. He was going to die and John didn’t know that he loved him.

“Yeah everything’s fine. I miss you though. It’s not exactly a walk in the park knowing you only have a certain number of days left.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that must be hard. It’s hard for me, so I’m assuming it’s even harder for you.”

“So how are you?” Sherlock asked the question, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he just wanted to hear John’s voice.

“Eh, you know. It’s been hard since you’ve left. Mary tried to help me out a bit, but I guess I’ve been a bit stand offish, wonder who I got that from.” John laughed.

Sherlock paused again, soaking in every last word John had just said. He loved John’s laugh, it was the best sound in the world.

“That’s good. I mean not good, but it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, it’s good to hear yours too.”

Sherlock wanted to cry, he memorized the sound of John’s voice, monitoring closer than he ever had before. He put it away in his mind palace and locked it there tight.

“Well I guess this is goodbye, again.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“No baby names this time. Although now I guess you know my whole name, not that it’s relevant anymore. My name is actually Christopher now.”

“Christopher? Wow that’s um… that’s good.” John couldn’t contain his laughter. He could couldn’t quite imagine Sherlock as a Christopher.

“I’m glad I got to talk to you. Gets a little lonely, not really having anyone I know around. I’d prefer Anderson over these dull people.”

“Wow that’s big for you. But yeah, it was nice. Good luck, I guess?”

“Yeah, thanks, although the outcome won’t change. 33 days left.”

“33, so about a month.”

“Yep.”

“Yep.”

“So…”

“Goodbye Sherlock.”

“Goodbye John”, and with that John hung up the phone.

Sherlock froze, the line went dead. He had done it again. It was his one last chance and he hadn’t told John. He fell to his knees, the phone dropping from his hand, the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. How could he be so stupid?

John stared at the phone for a second before his eyes blurred. That was it. That was there last goodbye. He had once again failed to tell Sherlock how he felt. He had nothing lose and he had failed greatly. It was the biggest mistake John had ever made, worse than the time at the tarmac. Mycroft walked to John and retrieved the phone. Nodding at John and then turning to leave. John ran to Sherlock’s room, pulling out Sherlock’s clothes from the drawers and holding them all in his arms. He threw himself across Sherlock’s bed, still holding the pile of close, and buried his face in the pillow. He inhaled the scent of Sherlock, wrapping himself in the scent of his clothes. He laid there for hours before finally falling unconscious.

Sherlock hated his flat. It was nothing like 221B. After hanging up with John he let his anger get the best of him. Shooting the walls, smashing plates, and crying. He finally wore himself out and laid in the middle of the flat, glass surrounding him, he slowly fell asleep.

Day 160

Sherlock had spent the past 10 days cleaning up the mess he had made. He hadn’t noticed all the cuts he had received from the glass and was careful to clean them and dress them properly. He cleaned the flat enough to walk through, but not completely. He wasn’t worried about how it looked, not with 20 days left to live. As long as he didn’t randomly have company he would be fine. The only company he could ever care about would be John, and John wasn’t coming. Every night he heard John’s voice, so very clear, but just out of reach. He’d cry himself awake and curse himself for not telling John that he loved him.

Day 170

20 days. It had been 20 days since John had talked to Sherlock. Every night he slept in Sherlock’s bed, hugging the pillows tight, imagining them to be Sherlock. It had been 19 days since John had made the decision. Day by day he went and purchased more and more sleeping pills, careful to keep them from Mycroft’s watchful eye. He went to different stores and hid them under a loose floor board in Sherlock’s room. Now that he knew the exact day that Sherlock was dying, he knew the exact day that he was dying too.

Day 180

Sherlock had 3 days. 3 days left to live and he was sitting alone at his flat. He was like a robot now. Every day he arrived at work, did what was needed of him, and then returned to his flat, stared at the wall, fell asleep, and awoke crying for John. Nothing changed and Sherlock almost wished his death was sooner, just so that he didn’t have to live everyday having his heart ripped out.

Day 181

John had 2 days. He left the flat one last time to purchase sleeping pills. His sleeping pattern remained the same, he would wake up crying for Sherlock and then remind himself that he’d see him soon enough. John almost wished that he could fast forward 2 days.

Day 182

Sherlock was told not to come in, he was no longer needed and his assignment was officially completed. This surprised Sherlock, they didn’t offer him to come and say goodbye to Sarah or anything. Not that he would have. Tomorrow was the big day, he wondered how it was going to happen. He decided he wouldn’t fall asleep tonight, it was his last night and he was going to spend it thinking of John. Reliving every moment, every word, and every adventure they had ever shared. He cleared his mind and pulled out the part of his head that contained everything about John, before finally lying down on the couch and falling into his mind palace.

John decided he would stay up late, at midnight he would take his medicine and even if he was a little early, soon enough he would be with Sherlock. He laid all the pills and a big glass of water, before sitting down on Sherlock’s bed and counting the minutes.

Sherlock was awakened from his mind palace. He knew he was going to kill whoever had interrupted his John time. It was only a second after he opened his eyes that he felt cool metal pressed against his head. A tall dark man knocked him across the head and suddenly the room went dark.

1 hour. That’s all John had left. His hands were shaking a bit and he wasn’t sure if he was excited or scared. Probably a bit of both. Adrenaline had always been one of John’s favorite things.

Sherlock opened his eyes and felt his arms chained, hanging above his head, he had been stripped of all his clothing and he tasted blood in his mouth. The room was dark and Sherlock gave himself a second to adjust, a man noticed that Sherlock had awoken and walked over.

“You only have 5 minutes left Mr. Holmes. Make the best of it.”

John stared at the clock, 5 minutes, his fingers tapped impatiently on his leg.

Sherlock sighed and let his body go limp, he was ready for his imminent death.

4 minutes.

There was some commotion and 3 men appeared, all three dressed in dark clothes and wearing masks, unidentifiable.

3 minutes

The gun was pressed to Sherlock’s head. This was it, this was his end. He reached into his mind and found John, the one person who had always kept him calm. John Watson, he kept him right. He listened carefully and heard John’s voice, he concentrated harder and heard John’s laughter. This was it, he was ready to die, he wanted his last thought’s to be of John. Suddenly a vivid memory appeared. Sherlock was on the tarmac again, John was laughing and they were saying goodbye. Sherlock tried to speak, but nothing he did could change the scene. Suddenly he felt a warm hand grab his. It was John’s hand. He held on tight, keeping the handshake slightly longer than necessary. He never wanted to let go, the warmth of John’s hand kept him grounded. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his head, John was gone, his hand was empty, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

2 minutes

John grabbed the pills in one hand, the glass of water in the other.

1 minute

Sherlock awoke to nurses and doctor, fluttering about and pushing him on a stretcher down white wall corridors, this wasn’t right, he was supposed to be dead. He attempted to turn his head and he saw Mycroft running along-side them. He knew instantly. Mycroft had been one of the bad guys. Mycroft had gone under cover. Mycroft had saved his life. Suddenly he thought of John and panicked. His mouth hurt but he called out to his brother,

“John. Save John.”

30 seconds

John brought the pills to his mouth, closing his eyes and whispering,

“Soon Sherlock, so very soon.”

Suddenly a door banged open, John jumped up and dropped the pills all over the floor.

Lestrade entered the flat and his eyes searching,

“John! John! Where are you?”

He flung open every door before he finally reached Sherlock’s room, finding John on the floor, picking up the pills.

“John, Sherlock’s coming home. He’s okay, he’s alive, please don’t do this.”

John froze,

“If you’re lying to me, I will kill you.”

“I promise. Mycroft called me, he saved Sherlock, there at a hospital. They’ll come as soon as Sherlock recovers.”

“Recovers?”

“Well he was kidnapped and tossed around a bit, also Mycroft had to knock him out in order to rescue him.”

“Call Mycroft.”

Sherlock was recovering fine. Although he did have a concussion, the rest were only minor scrapes and bruises. John had called and Mycroft had reassured him that Sherlock was alive and well. Sherlock told Mycroft that they were going home tonight. Mycroft agreed and made some phone calls. Arranging a private jet and a private nurse.

John waited. Lestrade had insisted that he was staying with John until Sherlock was back, worried that John might change his mind and try and take his life again. Both men had a hard time staying awake, both dozing in and out of consciousness but both very determined to try and stay awake. The sun was just rising when John and Lestrade were jolted awake to the sound of a door being opened downstairs. The two men turned and looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. They stared that the door, willing it open. Finally it did, a tall figure with dark auburn curls and high cheekbones stood in the doorway. John couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. Sherlock walked over to where John sat in his arm chair and he kneeled in front of him. John reached out and before he could even think twice he caressed Sherlock’s face. Sherlock leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, resting his head on John’s knees. Both men were crying, not sobbing, just soft tears rolling down their cheeks. Finally Sherlock spoke,

“John I’m not making this mistake again.”

“What mistake Sherlock?”

“The one I made on the tarmac, the one I made on the phone.”

“What are you talking about Sherlock?”

“John I love you.”

John froze, his hand going rigid on Sherlock’s face.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same. But I’ve lived everyday regretting not telling you and I nearly died not telling you. It was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Sherlock I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize John, I understand. Feelings aren’t always mutual.”

“No Sherlock, I mean I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for making the same mistake. Sherlock I’ve lived every day since you’ve left in shame that I never told you. Once our phone conversation ended I realized I had made the biggest mistake of my life by not telling you. Jesus Sherlock, I tried to take my life tonight because of you. Sherlock, I love you.”

Sherlock froze, he wasn’t expecting that answer. He wasn’t expecting the feelings to be reciprocated. Now what was he supposed to do?

“Come here you bloody psychopath, I love you.”

John used both his hands and pulled Sherlock’s face to his, pressing their lips together tightly. Sherlock stayed frozen for a second before finally closing his eyes and kissing John back. The world disappeared and in that moment there were only two people, William Sherlock Scott Holmes and John Hamish Watson, and those two people loved each other.

Sherlock pulled away,

“Never let go John, I want to hold you close forever.”

“I won’t Sherlock, I won’t ever let go.”

Once again their lips met and the two boys spoke a thousand words without saying one. Their lips were conveying the one thing that they had always struggled to say, the one thing they had always struggled to show,

“I love you.”


End file.
